


Bloom and Wilt

by Prinscar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Rayos de Sol para el Arbol, Snumbledore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinscar/pseuds/Prinscar
Summary: A gift in the form of a fanfic for Lifeofapottedplant.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Severus Snape
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Bloom and Wilt

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know how to describe it, it is mostly prose I think. It mainly takes place at the end of Harry's 4th year, and overflies Snape and Dumbledore's relationship along the years.

Times of need are not a rarity.

What kind of need? For Snape and Dumbledore, this word can have two very different meanings.

First, there is love longing.

It is not the first time they have sex. The fantasy had budded in a corner of their minds, a seed on fertile soil. The idea grew slowly, but steadily, held secret and shut in shadows. Snape and Dumbledore were on bad terms at first. Until the spy’s soul had been brought to the light. Since then, the Headmaster had cared for it. It had grown evermore.

As soon as his teenage years had come, Snape had seemed like a plant that had spent too much time growing in the dark. Awkward, unkempt, hostile because he knew himself weak and so, so frail. Under the Dark Lord’s brainwashing, this plant had grown – too fast, too bad, too wrong. Inevitably, after such pressure and demands, it had wilted. The spy hadn’t known if letting yet another crazy lone man handle him was a good idea or the next disaster. He had done it nevertheless. Thanks to the old man’s hands, Severus Snape had grown as much as he could.

A straight back, tall whether ugly or not, venomous, tears and thorns – scarred, wounded, impended and proud. Snape incarnated his Blackthorn wand. For the well-versed in wandlore, after all, it is common knowledge that those of a blackthorn bush produce the sweetest berries after the hardest of frosts.

They both wake up, one day. Dumbledore has requested a special De-Aging Solution from his personal Potions Master. He downs it quickly. He finds his young man working on the desk; he comes from behind and starts to massage his shoulders tenderly. A gasp. A glimpse. A smile.

A hand in the underwear.

“It feels so strange… I’m not sure I like it…”

It hurts a little, the first time. And then…

Dumbledore would always relish those memories.

“Just… Just a little longer…”

“I can’t! Oh Merlin I can’t! Aaahh –”

The desperate voice rises into an incredibly carnal cry, very loud and very high. A wonder nobody hears anything. Bless aloe vera, really.

One night Snape is dressed like a true oriental model. He wears nothing but a heavenly veil falling from the head, silky and slippery, an Invisibility Cloak except that you see the muse behind. He wears collars and bracelets, including around a bony ankle – he swipes his hair with fingers ornamented in golden rings. Above all those fleshy curves and deftly hands, his face of a Roman bust is graced with a beautiful diadem.

Probably because he’s the Queen.

He’s always been Dumbledore’s queen. Even on the board.

For now though, Snape doesn’t mind being used indecently. He can’t get enough of the violent pounding of his hole that sends him gliding back and forth on the blankets. Panting and moaning as if he was dying – and he probably would if it kept going – he rises his hands on shaky elbows – a generous cock sliding so deep, all the way home – and they grip the redhead’s shoulders to hang on.

It’s messy, with all this salty sweat dropping between the teeth, musk filling his nostrils with the unmistakable odor of sex. At the same time, it’s addictive. The man just can’t get enough of those balls slapping him down there. Punishing.

Snape’s got to be punished for all of his sins.

Dumbledore’s idea of retribution is simply glorious.

Sometimes, like during this trying school year of 1994 to 1995, sex becomes savage. The Headmaster is punished. Properly.

“Sometimes I wonder whether we Sort too soon…”

The dark man pursues him furiously, pestering. What is he implying? Severus Snape isn’t a damn Gryffindor! What, should a Slytherin be a coward? There are – known and recidivist – cowards groomed in Gryffindor.

Does that mean Snape could have been Sorted elsewhere?

He’s the one on top. Dumbledore is taught very well what the duty of a Headmaster is.

There Snape has been, knees on each side on his lover’s head, fisting his long hair as if it was a new kind of leash. With one hand, he pulls on it and forces his cock down the very tight throat of the De-Aged Dumbledore, the other arm hovering behind as to keep his balance and show his dominance. Snape curls his lips wider around crooked teeth – a beast resting the other’s wet lips on the root of his cock. His glare is dark, and hateful, and everything seductive.

And when that hasn’t been enough, he thrusts his cock between the other kind of cheeks, fucking raw, hard and fast – all the while breathing naughty words in the Headmaster’s ear. The older man is sure he hasn’t noticed how his Northern accent has been slowly brought back in his frenzy.

“UURRRGGH!” and Snape strains his own throat to the extreme, throwing his head back in victory.

Bless Merlin nobody came into the Office for an impromptu urgency – the door hasn’t been properly closed. Minerva would’ve had a fit if she knew. But they don’t care. They have every right to kiss, to lick, to suck and slurp and fuck to bliss.

Snape would very well do it in front of her, out of spite and sadistic pleasure, had he hissed.

Snape and Dumbledore didn’t have the luxury to endure those kinds of needs only.

Sometimes it is duty.

Harsh, hard and painful duty.

The Third Task concludes on the death of a champion and the rebirth of a madman. Dumbledore is out of his mind; Snape, him, gets a last little relief, when looking at his reflection on the Foe’s Glass, a confirmation of where his true loyalties lie.

Dumbledore can trust him all he wants… sometimes, the spy doesn’t know if he can trust himself anymore. However he now knows that if he dies this night, it will be on the name of his new caring mentor.

They’d both known the Dark Lord would return, if not this year, then the next. The Dark Mark has been burning very black. Those complaining about Dumbledore’s treatment don’t know what they’re talking about.

They don’t know how it feels to be a slave.

And they won’t ever know the dread of that white-hot marking coming back to life, an eternal reminder of your choices and mistakes. What kind of subhuman you truly were.

Your fault.

The Minister is an idiot who seals his fate in cowardly denial. Sirius Black fights on the same side – Snape cleans his palm on his robes after the disgusting feeling of the beast’s dirty paw concluding a tentative truce. Potter is livid and traumatized, on the brink of tears.

Oh, but he hasn’t seen a quarter of what the Dark Lord can do.

His lover knows though. He knows it so well in fact, that he turns to look at Snape with worried eyes.

“You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… If you are prepared…”

They have built and beat and hardened Snape’s Occlumency shields until he felt as if his brains were bleeding out. They have polished their arguments for the Dark Lord to perfection. For years, they have planned, adapted, executed.

Now, it was make it or break it.

Snape would never back down. Or else, he would just get back to this point: he deserved to die.

“I am.”

“Then good luck.”

Nothing else matters. This is, at least, what he keeps telling himself as he forces a step in front if the other. He feels sick, his feet are jelly, admittedly he’s scared to death. If he dies tonight, it would be okay. Nothing else matters.

He still wants to throw up.

He does on the stroke of midnight.

It was to be expected. At least he’s still alive. That’s what they say, right? The motto of mankind still goes: we’ll suffer all, sooner than die…

Through his wishes to end it all, it stems from the drenched dirt under his nails, the frost of the late spring grass, until it becomes a holy chant in his Occluding head.

We’ll suffer all sooner than die.

He can’t quite know if what comes from his mouth is a laugh or a sob. Either way it is a cry.

Make a wish, they say, when you see a comet trailing through the sky. Among the myriads of constellations Snape can figure out while one his back, through the blurring fog of the monstrous pain, he believes to see the tail of a very white shooting star. He makes a wish, different from the pleas he’s moaned just before.

He deserves the pain, doesn’t he? He does deserve it…

Dumbledore and McGonagall don’t agree… but what do they know? Huh? What do they know about shame and regret? It’s ironic then, that a few days later Dumbledore will be the one disgusted and ashamed at his past choices. Dumbledore seems perfect. He is great. Everybody would tell him so. And still…

“How could I have ever been proud of this?”

“Stop doing that,” replies Severus.

Albus will shake his head. The other man will want to shake some sense into him. He’d need Minerva to tell him that one day, the only person whose forgiveness he needs to get is Albus himself.

The spy plunges deep under the black waters of unconsciousness. The stars can only go so far.

There are things you should do. That you must do. That you simply need to get and give before it’s too late.

How has this obligation ever kept humans from a fatal mistake?

Hopefully, Severus Snape will return alive tonight; if not sound, then safe. And Dumbledore won’t regret those times – only those that closed on a chessboard failure… and those he won’t seem to recall ever again.

Though, is that so bad? Maybe that is what keeps us walking forward. Don’t look back, they say. There’s a reason, isn’t there?

He wakes up as the sun rises for the new revolution. He can’t move, he must be paralyzed. Maybe the Cruciatus hit his nerves too far… He flexes a toe, it doesn’t hurt. So he tries to get up.

And he screams.

Nobody can hear it from very far though. His jaws are clenched hard to keep the shout at bay. He pushes past the pain, oh so blazing. There are dots and figures of shifting colors blooming in his haunted gaze. It is torture on its own to get on his feet. He turns on his heels, catching a glimpse of his uncovered arm. He wishes he could turn the skull and the snake into the majestic phoenix. He knows he will one day.

Dumbledore finds his man stumbling and crashing on the silverware. No matter crockery and cutlery, the most urgent is to heal his spy. A good thing he is the most powerful wizard of the world. He lays a single chaste kiss on the narrow lips. It’s followed by potions as bitter as the man who brewed them – Severus Snape has found another way to make people cry. Today, the tears are his own. They are cleaned and erased from his skin soon enough. When the spy has regained enough color, Dumbledore levitates him onto his own bed.

The world when rising from torture seemed new and odd. For the caretaker, the new person they admired and cried was the one lying almost dead, pale and fragile as porcelain, painted with morbid human liquids. A dormant on a bed of crimson blooms.

He doesn’t dare slide under the covers when he hasn’t any De-Aging Potion to drink yet.

However by the time the evening comes, the Potions Master’s glare leaves him no choice.

It’s too early for sex, but it doesn’t matter. They cuddle. It is good to find stillness. Snape just has to remember he mustn’t close his eyes forever.

For the time being, he can’t help but let it go.

His gasps are muffled by Albus. He neither loves nor hates it. He only cares about this man right now. As for once, it is the same the other way around.

Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore are bound by needs that sometimes aren’t compatible. When the later needs to leave Hogwarts, Severus cannot try to follow him. When the former needs to leave Hogwarts, Albus knows he cannot stop him. But sometimes their needs match all the required circumstances, and the fruits are very worth it.

When their duty is done, when the world will cease battling them, finally they will rest, and they can take care of each other and themselves.


End file.
